Enter Ithamore.
O Ithamore, come near; Come near, my love; come near, thy master's life, My trusty servant, nay, my second self: [94] For I have now no hope but even in thee: And on that hope my happiness is built; When saw'st thou Abigail?
Itha. To-day.
Bar. With whom?20
Itha. A friar.
Bar. A friar! false villain, he hath done the deed.
Itha. How, sir?
Bar. Why, made mine Abigail a nun.
Itha. That's no lie, for she sent me for him.
Bar. O unhappy day! False, credulous, inconstant Abigail! But let 'em go: and, Ithamore, from hence Ne'er shall she grieve me more with her disgrace; Ne'er shall she live to inherit aught of mine,30 Be blest of me, nor come within my gates, But perish underneath my bitter curse, Like Cain by Adam, for his brother's death.